Crime Meridian
by Wondo
Summary: Working on a case for the Art Crime Team, Peter and Neal find themselves matching wits with a map antiquity thief.
1. Chapter 1

Crime Meridian

A/N: This story was originally written for a genzine prior to our introduction of Agent Kramer. I have modified the original submission.

Chapter 1

Neal Caffrey was sitting at his desk in the bullpen area of the Manhattan FBI Office. Feet comfortably propped up, perched precariously on the edge of his seat, he yawned and stifled a tired groan. The conman turned consultant, had just completed a tiring and seeming endless day of researching and compiling statistics on active mortgage fraud cases. Convinced his boss and custodian, Special Agent Peter Burke, had intentionally assigned him the task as punishment detail, he was anxious to leave the paperwork behind and head home.

"Caffrey," called out Peter, "get your feet off the desk! The workday isn't over yet!"

Neal remained in his position, fidgeting with a tightly wound homemade ball of rubber bands. "Come on, Peter. Everyone's gone home but you and me. We missed dinner hours ago. Have you ever considered seeing a counselor for workaholism?" Neal grinned. "I found a Twelve Step program for you online. It's called 'Recoveries Anonymous'."

As the senior agent darkly scowled and approached Neal's desk, the younger man sat up, effortlessly tossing and catching the ball. Leaning toward the agent, displaying an uncharacteristic poker-face, he softly added, "I know you're still angry at me but we've put in a long day."

The previous day, Neal had disregarded Burke's order to ignore periodic verbal animosity from Agent Ruiz, Organized Crime Unit, and intentionally antagonized the man by covertly sabotaging Ruiz' personal Keurig coffee maker. Slipping into Ruiz office on lunch break the conman had quickly poured vinegar in the water reservoir and left. The plan backfired when in a fit of anger, after tasting the foul brew, the hostile agent ripped out the cord, knocking the machine to the ground. The culprit was later identified, leaving Peter Burke to deal with the fallout. Ending up having to replace the new Keurig with his own money, he had been furious with his consultant.

Peter bit back a retort and scrutinized the felon placed in his custody as a Criminal Informant. Neal did look exhausted and bleary-eyed. The two men had spent the last ten hours clearing varied backlogged files that had piled up for several weeks during a global art forgery investigation. The scam had been the office priority, pulling in all available agents from regularly assigned duties. With the case successfully on its way to court, Peter Burke had been left with countless accumulated white collar crimes to process.

"There's a new case I want to go over with you."

Tossing him an official file, Peter sat down on the edge of Neal's desk, ignoring his friend's exaggerated sigh. Flinching from pain, stretching sore back muscles caused by peering at the computer monitor for several hours on end, the lawman continued the discussion.

"The Bureau's been notified of antiquated map thefts, not only here in the States, but overseas. We're going to be investigating a recent robbery at the Rockland County Historical Society. The Art Crime Team asked us to look into it."

Neal's interest was piqued. The art crime team, a specialized unit of 14 special agents, supported by three special trial attorneys, was established in 2004 to address, investigate and assist in art and culture property crimes worldwide. Coordinated through the Art Theft Program located in Washington, DC, it had first been a major source of worry to him during his last months before his felony conviction. Fairly recently, their head agent, Philip Kramer, had planned to have him removed from Peter's custody, and transferred to Washington to work under his supervision. Fortunately, Kramer had been exposed manipulating evidence within the Manhattan office and forced into early retirement. If the task force now wanted the New York office's help, the case must involve extensive parameters. He quickly scanned the document.

"This says an 1820's copy of a rare atlas was stolen. Why are the 'Big Guys' involved in this larceny case?" asked the consultant.

"Hughes received a call from Washington," explained Peter. "The Art Team recently identified the loss of several rare maps. It seems in the last several years a few maps have disappeared one by one from prestigious libraries and, until recently, went undetected. They're in the process of investigating the scope of these thefts." He looked suspiciously at Neal, one eyebrow lifted.

"Whoa Peter! I swear this is something I've never had my hand in."

"Uh-huh … What about using someone else's hand, Neal?"

"Come on, Peter."

Neal quickly scanned the details of the theft. "I'm innocent. Cross my name off that list," he stated, displaying the guileless demeanor he used to gain trust with past marks. He paused a few moments, deep in thought.

"Not that I hadn't thought of attempting this kind of interesting scheme," he added smiling his megawatt grin. "The right opportunity just never presented itself."

Peter had a nagging suspicion his consultant wasn't being completely honest but chose to file away the doubt for a later time. He knew Neal's past expertise in forgery, art trafficking and antiquity theft would be invaluable in this investigation. Sighing, he sincerely wanted to believe Neal had not been involved in any of these past intricate crimes.

"We're going to New City tomorrow and question the curator of the historical society. I want to get a feel for the layout and meet some of the employees," said Peter.

"You're thinking it was an inside job?" questioned Neal.

Peter shook his head. "I don't know. We may be on to a one-man crime spree." He looked over at Neal, and got to his feet. "Let's call it a night. I'll pick you up early, around 7AM. We'll come first to the office and look over the cases the Task Force identified. Then we'll head out."

"We've worked so late today. Listen," said Neal, "I've got a great idea, Peter. Why don't we do something with which you're obviously unfamiliar." He paused a few seconds. "Sleep in tomorrow morning."

Peter smiled a wicked grin. "Haven't you heard? 'Work is the grand cure of all the maladies and miseries that ever beset mankind.'"

Neal was quick on the uptake. "Thomas Carlyle?" Peter nodded smugly.

"Isn't he the Scottish historian and writer? The one called crotchety and argumentative, with a disagreeable personality?" asked Neal.

Peter's smile faded. "That was a judgmental attitude put forth by jealous associates."

"Wait," continued Neal. "It was documented by historians that Carlyle was known for making people around him very miserable."

"Stop," Peter put his hand up. "I get the picture."

"He suffered from constant stomach ailments and gastric ulcers. I believe he said his great ambition was to die of exhaustion rather than boredom." Neal laid down the file. "I think I'm beginning to see why you admire him so much and—"

"Do _you_ want a ride home?" asked Peter. Neal smiled and nodded as Peter pointed to the door. "Then go get in the car before I rescind my kind offer to drive you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Just as Peter promised, he was at his CI's residence early the next morning. Planning to ease back into his mentor's good graces, Neal was waiting for him outside the door of his landlady's palatial home. Carrying two cups of steaming coffee, the former conman quickly hopped into the front seat of the black Taurus.

"Don't, I repeat, don't …spill a drop of that coffee in my car," said Peter, an edge to his voice.

Neal placed both cardboard cups in the front drink holder. "My, aren't we grumpy this morning. Come on, Peter. It's June's Italian Roast!"

His partner knew the special agent's fondness for his landlady's expensive morning brew. Peter, living on a federal agent's salary in pricey New York City, couldn't afford to buy the quality coffee beans that June indulged in for herself and her friends. It had been a constant irritant to Peter when Neal, fresh out of prison, had talked himself into June's luxury apartment with all the perks it offered, for seven hundred dollars a month rent!

The federal agent closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm tired. Reviewed all those case files last night." He turned, confronting his charge with a direct stare. "And you're trying to bribe me with that coffee. Well, it's not going to work." Pulling away from the curb, he picked up one of the cups and took a quick sip. "Delicious." Peter paused and smiled. "Don't forget you owe me a hundred and twenty dollars. I plan to deduct it from your paycheck."

As Neal raised his eyebrows, Peter sputtered, "No …Don't start! That's what Ruiz made me fork out for that stupid coffee machine."

"There are occasions that may leave a foul taste in your mouth," Neal argued. "I was only trying to point that out to our organized crime associate. If he had just run a new batch of hot water through the reservoir he would have ended up with a squeaky clean machine and mouth."

Peter shook his head, hiding a slight grin, as Neal turned silent, raising his hands in mock surrender. Quietly sipping his Italian Roast, he waited for Peter to initiate further conversation. Staring out the window at the morning scene of bustling Manhattan, he inwardly smiled and noted how much he secretly enjoyed verbally sparring with this man. Neal rarely met people who were able to match his intellect and humorous repartees. Peter thrived on their mutual sarcastic banter and one-upmanship.

"Neal, when we get to the office, I want you to look over the cases the Task Team sent us. Review all the known facts before we head over to the Rockland Historical Society." Peter yawned and continued to sip his hot coffee. "I've a gut feeling we may be pursuing one smart criminal. These clandestine map thefts have gone undetected for quite awhile. I'd really enjoy providing _assistance_ to the Art Task Force."

His consultant turned, peering at him intently. "Do I detect a small quantity of antagonism in your voice?"

"Nope," replied Peter, swallowing his coffee with one gulp. "Time for us to put away past grievances." Placing his half-empty cup down, his hands gripped the wheel. "Our office will provide them all the help they need."

"Kramer gave us both a pretty bad time of it. You can forget about that?"

"Doesn't matter," the agent declared, his agitated tone refuting his words. "We'll do our job."

Neal knew Peter rarely publicly criticized anyone in the bureau. He was more apt to keep his cards close to his chest, silently preparing vindication. He wanted his reputation as head agent of the Manhattan White Collar unit to be pristine. The "powers that be" viewed Peter Burke as a candidate on the fast track for promotion, but Peter himself, was content with an unsullied respectability. He was happy with his authority, location and associates with whom he worked.

Arriving at the downtown office, the two men quickly moved to their respective desks. Neal, to the bullpen area downstairs and Peter, to his glass-enclosed private workstation located upstairs next to the division chief.

Neal quickly scanned the Art Crime Team files pertaining to the map thefts. After analyzing all the pertinent facts he sat back with a cup of inferior, office coffee and waited for Peter to finish up delegating the morning assignments to assorted personnel.

Within two hours they were back in Peter's personal vehicle and arriving at the Historical Society. Heading into the front entrance of the museum building, the partners were met by the curator.

"Agent Burke?" asked the forty-something year old professional. "I'm Mary Ann Baldwin."

"Yes, I talked to you on the phone." Peter held up his badge. " This is my consultant, Neal Caffrey."

Neal nodded and smiled flirtatiously. He was quite aware that his extreme good-looks often worked to his advantage. Baldwin, a tall, overweight woman with graying hair pulled back into a severe bun, barely gave him a glance. Fidgeting with the identity card hanging around her neck, briskly walking beside the men as she ushered them into her small office, her body language gave off a definite air of agitation and annoyance. _Why, he wondered._

As they sat down, he glanced over at his partner, trading questioning looks. Peter was displaying his predictable facial expression, eyes intensely focused and jaw set. Inwardly chuckling, Neal knew Ms. Baldwin had just become an intriguing enigma to Special Agent Burke; an unquestionably dangerous position if you had performed a criminal act. Once Peter's curiosity was aroused he was tenacious to the point of no return. The lawman had pursued an elusive Neal during a three-year cat and mouse game, ending only with the conman's apprehension.

Neal relaxed in his chair, observing Peter's face. The agent's eyes seemed to miss nothing as they swept around the room. He knew his partner was scrutinizing the office, noting the curator's messy desk, strewn with phone messages on Post-its, numerous reference books and assorted pens. There was a notable absence of any family photographs. Even the walls were bare and bleak, displaying only the obligatory framed diplomas and certificates, efficiently hung but offering only a meager window into her life.

"Ms. Baldwin", said Burke displaying a disarming smile, "I'm grateful you're able to meet with us on such short notice. I'm sure you're anxious to help us recover the atlas. How was it discovered missing?"

The curator grimaced, looking at Peter with affront. "Agent, I've told the police all I know. Why do I have to go over it again? This is all so unnecessary."

Leaning forward in his chair, Peter spoke amicably. "Humor me, please. The police log states that one of your assistants, attempting to index some files, noted its absence. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she replied. "Three days ago, my assistant Joseph Mayer, brought it to my attention. We immediately searched the entire library. It was nowhere to be found. I called the police who began an investigation." She shrugged. "We have a seven acre campus here, Agent Burke, with multiple buildings that record the history of our agrarian community. I didn't think they would recover the atlas on the grounds."

"A rare book of this type would bring around fifty thousand dollars. Don't you think, Ms. Baldwin?" Neal interjected. "What security do you provide for your documents?"

"Approximately sixty to seventy thousand, Mr. Caffrey," Baldwin corrected. "And our _security_ is the same as any museum library. We utilize a log for all visitors and require proper documentation for access and research." She turned to the federal agent. "I suggest you interrogate past visitors to our research library and let the employees continue with their important duties."

Dropping his friendly façade, Peter nailed her with a penetrating look. "I'll do just that," he said with a moment's pause. "And personally return to notify you of the perpetrator's identity." Standing slowly, he continued his conversation. "Now, my consultant and I will take a look at the research library and chat with Joseph Mayer. Thank you for your valuable time."

Peter and Neal left the office, strolling slowly through the museum building.

"I don't think she likes us, Peter," said Neal.

"Unusual state of affairs for you," deadpanned Peter. "A woman that doesn't fall all over you. Surprised?"

Neal grinned. "The only thing missing from Mary Ann was the finger across her lips 'shushing' us in stereotypical librarian fashion."

"She's either hiding something or trying out for the part of Melvil Dewey's mother."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After interviewing Baldwin's assistant and surveying the library and storage room where the theft occurred, Peter and Neal returned to the federal building. They sat down in the senior agent's glass-walled office.

"Well Neal, what did you think of Baldwin's assistant?" asked the agent, pausing to rub his eyes rimmed with fatigue.

Neal shrugged. "Typical underpaid staffer in a thankless job who knows security is a low priority in historical societies. I'm surprised he even noticed the atlas missing from the special collections room." Slumped in his chair, positioning his prized fedora close to his eyes, he spoke with authority. "What are the areas first undermined by budget cuts? Security! Historical libraries, even prestigious universities, all hesitate to publicly admit problems. They're dependent upon wealthy donors. No one wants to upset the applecart!"

The consultant looked down at the New York Times on Peter's desk. "Did you hear what he said to us, 'we've never had a theft like this before. Who would be selfish enough to put profit over public access of a treasured antiquity?' Thefts of rare maps, worldwide, are so common place statistics are barely kept."

Peter leaned forward, "Something the US is trying to correct. We pushed for an international missing and stolen map database but the sheer number of historical documents, incomplete inventories, cost of security and updating old catalogs is mind-boggling. The agency has been pressing libraries for years to adequately catalog their antique books and maps. Less than half of them are even entered in any electronic catalog. Without an updated inventory and photographs of books, how do you retrieve stolen items or prove criminality—"

"You don't. That's the point, Peter. A much larger percentage of stolen paintings are recovered than books or maps." Smiling, Neal sat back up. "Of course, I learned all this from my own library research."

"I'm sure you did. Your reputation as a bibliophile precedes you."

Peter paused and gazed out the window. "Then you must know the majority of these crimes are committed or abetted by staff. The problem will be finding the potential buyer. Do you know how many map dealers we run across who've pleaded ignorant of stolen goods, saying they thought the document was a rare find? A treasure they couldn't pass up. Somehow they were never too eager to pursue authenticity."

Special Agent Clinton Jones stepped into his supervisor's office. He'd been instructed to alert antiquated map dealers, collectors and specialty bookstore owners nationwide about the atlas' disappearance.

Jones gave a quick nod to Neal and addressed his boss.

"Peter, I got a bite on that notification we sent out. Seems some book dealer in Delaware had a call several weeks ago from someone offering to sell a collection of Early American maps. He was excited about the opportunity; he's been waiting for the return call."

"Got a name and number?"

"The dealer runs a business called 'Remington's Rare Books and Maps'. The caller didn't leave his name, but Mr. Remington noted the telephone number from where the call originated. I traced it to a Joseph Colbert, right here in Manhattan. He's some well-known map dealer, rare book aficionado, and auctioneer. From what I can tell, he's topnotch in his field. I came up with a long list of prominent clients and friends."

Neal glanced over at Peter. "Looks like we'll be paying Mr. Colbert a call."

"He's said to be like a bull terrier when he wants to buy something," added Jones. "Won't let go, will trample anyone in the process."

Peter got to his feet. "Jones, I want you and Diana to check out our Mary Ann Baldwin. Find out if she's had any past contact with Remington or Colbert. Check for any current financial problems. Give me a call when you find out anything." He motioned to his CI. "Let's go."

Peter and Neal headed out to Joseph Colbert's establishment, the Antiquated Map Gallery, on 55th Street in midtown Manhattan. Located between Park and Madison Avenues, this exclusive store with ads featured in the New York Times, catered to the elite and wealthy.

Walking through the large glass doors of the elegant shop, Peter wasn't sure if he was in an art museum or high-end emporium. The gleaming multihued oak floor had breathtaking appearance of color and grain. The main room was decorated with antique maps of rich vividness and beauty. Plainly framed, hung on stark white walls, the aesthetic appearance was remarkable. The lawman knew his cohort would be dutifully impressed, anxious to linger in the lofty atmosphere.

A few steps into the showroom, they were immediately welcomed by a lovely blonde attendant. As Neal offered his trademark smile, Peter quickly asked if Colbert was on the premises. Walking effortlessly on three inch high heels, the statuesque young woman escorted them into the adjoining room.

"I already like this place, Peter," the conman whispered in his quiet, inevitable way. Peter only shook his head with resignation. Neal stepped forward pointing in the direction of the attendant. "Just …" he paused a beat, "stunning."

"Neal," warned Peter.

"No, I mean it," Neal declared, his gaze flickering over the woman to the bookcases behind her. "I've never seen such fine workmanship—"

"You have an eye, sir, for custom crafted Amish furniture," said the man standing unobserved in the far corner of the room. "Notice the rich wood and fine stains only nature can offer. Of course, I'm sure you noticed the collection of vintage books they encase. A wonderful display of travel and exploration." The man gestured to several colorful volumes, "exquisite, decorative bindings."

"I'm Joseph Colbert," he declared in a rich soft voice, "the owner of this fine establishment. I see you've met my assistant Brandy."

Colbert, a small man with prematurely grey hair, smiled graciously and approached the two men, offering his handshake. He appeared to be in his late thirties, looking fit and muscular except for a slight paunch around his midsection.

"Do you have an appointment or were you just browsing in the area?" he inquired, dismissing Brandy with a gesture of his chin.

As she slowly left the room, casting a flirtatious backward gaze at Neal, Peter displayed his identity badge. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"FBI?" Colbert echoed, eyebrows rising in surprise. "What's all this about? Have any maps been stolen from my clientele?"

"Mr. Colbert, were you recently in contact with a book dealer in Delaware?" inquired Peter.

Colbert chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, refusing to take the question seriously. "Mr. Burke. Do you know how many book dealers, map collectors, appraisers and auction houses I contact in a given week? In my business if you don't provide an extensive and constantly changing inventory, you're soon left in the dust."

Neal was entertained by Peter's response. "It's Agent Burke," said Peter, setting a no-nonsense tone. "Please answer my question. Were you in touch with Remington's Rare Books and Maps? I'm sure in your passion for collection and sales you maintain a detailed log of business transactions."

"I do indeed, _Agent_ Burke," he grated, suppressing his irritation, offering a fake smile. "However, I would like to know what's this all about. Why are you interested in my research history?"

"We're investigating the theft of a nineteenth century atlas from the Rockland Historical Society," Peter replied. "A Mr. Remington, in Delaware, stated he received a call from you asking if he was interested in purchasing an 1820's era antiquated map. Have any of your clients asked you to arrange a sale?"

"The theft of an atlas? From the 1820's?" blurted Colbert, rubbing a hand over his face, eyes widening in surprise. "Why, someone called me several weeks ago wanting information about their new acquisition. I told her I would check around. She _refused _to give me a name or even let me see the item."

"She?" questioned Neal, glancing at Peter.

The map dealer turned to Neal. "Yes. It was unquestionably a woman. She seemed quite knowledgeable about antiquated treasures but hesitant to give me details. Only wanted a variety of price estimates. Told her I would check with a few shops I've dealt with in the past; I would either purchase the item myself or receive a referral fee. When I didn't hear back from this mystery woman, I didn't pursue it."

"Although I'm sure you recorded her phone number," deadpanned Peter.

"Oh, I'm sorry. After a few days, when I didn't hear from the caller, I discovered I couldn't find the number. My assistant must have misplaced it. I was irate at first with Brandy's incompetence, but later assumed the caller wasn't sincere since there wasn't any follow up." Colbert stood straighter, adjusting his suit coat. "I do receive calls from competitors trying to identify my invaluable contacts." He winced with feigned regret. "Do you think this woman might be the thief, Agent Burke?"

Peter was about to reply when Neal stepped forward. "Over the last twenty years, early maps have maintained a steady increase in price. Isn't it the combination of specialized skill, practicality and beauty that produces the attraction of these antiquities?"

Colbert brightened with enthusiasm. "You're very knowledgeable on this subject, agent." Amused at the designation, Neal glanced over at Peter.

"Rare maps now represent a substantial investment. Map collecting is such an exciting field! Not only do maps exhibit beauty and color but they satisfy the discriminating buyer whether he or she enjoys history, cartography or art." Basking in his own self-importance, the dealer smiled. "I myself have an extensive collection of expensive and rare artifacts. My gallery has one of the finest and most respected reputations in New York. Working closely with my customers, some for years at a time, I helped them slowly assemble a collection, map by treasured map."

Colbert began to warm to his subject. Specifically addressing the FBI consultant, ignoring Peter, he continued. "Were you aware that I've personally built up several noteworthy collections that were donated to several major libraries?"

Neal nodded encouragingly.

"This ensured public enjoyment and accessibility."

Peter inwardly groaned. Colbert and Neal could probably discuss art for hours. He wasn't sure if the curator would climb down from his soapbox within the immediate future or hold them hostage, expounding on the minutia of cartography. Suddenly the weary agent realized he had missed lunch, again!

Reaching into his suit coat pocket, Peter retrieved and handed the dealer his card. "Mr. Colbert, please call us if you hear from your mystery woman. We're anxious to talk to her."

Nodding at both men, beaming with friendliness, he ushered them to the gallery exit. "I certainly will, Agent Burke and Agent …"

"Caffrey," Neal quickly added, smiling smugly at Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and story alerts. I'm happy you're enjoying this story!_

Chapter 4

Two days later, following several lengthy and tedious administrative meetings, phone call conferences with the White Plains Resident Agency on another case, and counseling sessions with the new probationary agent, Peter Burke was finally free to spend an afternoon pursuing leads on the Rockland theft. He had learned from Jones and Agent Diana Barrigan that Mary Ann Baldwin was struggling with numerous financial problems stemming from an estranged husband's gambling addiction.

Although his investigation team had found no direct tie-in linking Baldwin with Remington or Colbert, the experienced agent was relying on a gut feeling of complicity. He had placed a tail on the curator, in addition to instructing his office to quietly alert all New York public museums, libraries and universities to increase security.

"Do you accept Colbert's explanation about the phone call?" asked Neal, stepping into the agent's workstation, dropping into a seat uninvited.

Lifting the case file, Peter refrained from reminding Neal not to treat his office with accustomed, annoying familiarity. "His reputation is pristine and he's allowed access in any prestigious university, museum or public library. Our Mr. Colbert seems to have the typically high intellect coupled with an enlarged ego."

Shaking his head, the lawman continued. "He's a specialist in early American maps and atlases with a well-known reputation for frenzied pursuit of new acquisitions … Yet, he wants us to believe he didn't follow up on this mystery phone call touting a rare find. He's hiding something."

"Peter," said Neal, "you have to admit he does have a rare genius of recognizing unique and intellectual excellence."

"Yes, although he shows a marked susceptibility to criminal fraud, _Agent _Caffrey."

Neal sat up in protest. "I never represented myself as a law enforcement officer." He paused, as if in thought. "I wouldn't want to lose my soul."

Peter glanced out the doorway noticing Jones and Barrigan hurrying toward his office. "You didn't do anything to dispel the idea either, but don't worry, you won't be 'gaining the whole world' either … Not in my custody."

"Boss," said Diana as she stepped over the threshold. "We just got word from Walters, the agent you placed on Mary Ann Baldwin. He's over at her apartment with the NYPD. She's dead."

Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, the agent headed out the door. His associates followed in close pursuit.

Visiting the murder scene, Peter and his crew learned the agent in charge of Baldwin's surveillance had been diverted from his post by a city policeman requesting help with a fleeing robbery suspect, several apartments down the street from the curator's home. Thirty minutes later the sound of a gunshot was reported in Mary Ann Baldwin's apartment complex. By the time Agent Walters went back to investigate, it was too late. He discovered her body. Shot at close range, nothing was found disturbed in her apartment. Crime scene investigators were left to search for evidence.

Bristling with frustration, the lead agent left the crime scene with Neal and stopped at his Brooklyn home for a quick bite to eat before heading back to the bureau. Misgivings about notifying the Washington Art Team about Baldwin's death, however, left him with little appetite.

"I don't think they'll find anything, Peter," said Neal. "It looks like the killer covered his tracks."

"I assume whoever shot her knows we're on the right track. She's somehow tied in with this atlas theft," Burke retorted. "I'm going to have a little talk with Walters." He snorted with displeasure. "See what else he missed." Anger narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw.

Caffrey shared a wary look with Elizabeth, Peter's wife. The two of them sitting in the Burkes' living room, watching the special agent pace back and forth.

"Honey, I don't think it's just Walters' that has you so riled up. What else is it?" questioned Elizabeth, a curious note in her voice. Married to Peter for over ten years, she knew her husband's reticence to display any recognition of bureau incompetency to Neal.

"The Special Art Task Team asked us to look into this case for them, El. They usually do their own leg work. I don't want this investigation to go south! Hughes told me it's an opportunity to throw a spotlight on our unit's expertise," Peter replied, shaking his head. "Now I have to report that one of the prime suspects is murdered under our very nose."

Elizabeth gazed at her husband with sympathy. "You've been pushing yourself for weeks. First, the art scam priority and now this. You're tired and cranky. When's the last time you even sat down for a quiet meal or finished at the office before ten?" Elizabeth's tone was infinitely patient. "Peter, you need to step back, take a deep breath and regroup."

Gazing out the window, Peter recognized the wisdom in her words. Turning, walking over to the sofa, he sat down next to her and gently smiled at his attractive spouse. Once again, as he had done so often in the past, the lawman silently pondered his good fortune, asking himself why this remarkable and lovely woman had agreed to share his life.

Peter's warm brown eyes caressed her with love.

"I married a very wise woman," he said, taking her hands in his. "El, I'm sorry I haven't been home. Once this investigation calms down, I promise to make it up to you."

Elizabeth nodded, never taking her eyes off his face. She knew her husband's commitment to the agency and White Collar unit. As the wife of a special agent, El knew long hours and personal danger were part and parcel of his profession. Although Peter's words were sincere, she had long ago recognized the bureau would always intrude in their personal life. Deeply in love with this man, she had made peace with that knowledge. Peter Burke was a rare man of integrity, strength, innate kindness and hidden vulnerability. If she had to share him with others she would do so, as long as he always returned home to her at the end of the day.

Neal observed the couple with quiet intensity. He never admitted to himself or others how much he envied their marital relationship; they enjoyed a lifestyle about which he often fantasized. He had never experienced a serene home life, having been brought up in a dysfunctional, fatherless environment. The Burkes' home provided the opportunity to unwind and display his true self, not hidden by persona.

Peter looked away, gesturing to Neal.

"Come on, Special Agent Fictitious. Let's go. I want to do further research on your cartographic friend, the illustrious Joseph Colbert."

Returning to Peter's office, the partners analyzed the information, Jones and Diana had amassed on Colbert. They reviewed personal history, acquaintances, past domestic and foreign travels and known whereabouts for the past several months. Two items of interest to the men involved Colbert's frequent travels to numerous large cities in the United States and abroad, combined with a remarkable talent of acquiring ancient maps unavailable to other collectors. Map enthusiasts flocked to his personal auctions, aware of his reputation for displaying gems of cartographic beauty.

"Peter, either this man is a genius in recognizing and obtaining art treasures or he's dealing in stolen goods. Look at his travels overseas! He visits London, Paris, Copenhagen, Helsinki … Not only does he specialize in Early American artifacts but his trade is international. Early maps of the world are very popular because they can be sold anywhere. This guy is working a gold mine."

The agent peered at Neal. "Envious?"

His consultant grinned, "More like impressed." His voice faltered, smile fading, "Ah… aside from his capacity for murder. He covers his tracks quite well; we need to catch him in the act."

Peter glanced over the case files and flipped through the pages. He straightened up from his slouched, seated position behind his desk. "Colbert's been visiting the New York Public Library for the last few days."

The CI raised his eyes with a questioning look.

"Let's suppose he's not performing scholarly study or promoting his philanthropy."

Understanding dawned on Neal's face, as he nodded his head in agreement. "Our curator is researching his next acquisition or removing a few maps at a time."

"Yeah," Peter paused. "You know, I haven't been to the public library in quite some time. Maybe I should bone up on my history. We'll wait until our friend returns and see what area he's researching. I'll let him display his expertise … to an amateur like me."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Thank you for all the reviews, story alerts and favs. Now that Crime Meridian is complete, I'm in the process of writing a new fic centered around Peter & Mozzie in harm's way! Will Neal be able to intercede for them. Stay tuned.

Chapter 5

Several days later, Peter Burke found his opportunity to visit New York's famous book depository. Agent Jones, assigned to perform meticulous, covert scrutiny of Colbert, notified him their suspect was now entering the landmark building, located at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. Peter and Neal rushed to the vicinity.

Passing the famed marble-sculptured library lions, they approached the massive doors. Giving a wave at Jones, maintaining vigil in the lobby, they proceeded to the first floor office of the public services librarian, Justin Abernathy.

Quickly identifying himself, Peter questioned the librarian's knowledge of the map dealer's on-going research. The nattily dressed, young bureaucrat gave the agent a dismissive shrug.

"I don't keep tabs on our patrons, Agent Burke … especially well-know academicians. Mr. Colbert is a welcome friend of this public establishment! Did you know he helped us tremendously with the Lawrence H. Slaughter Collection of atlases and maps? Mr. Colbert provided not only expertise, but a variety of priceless maps and major works of the great cartographers." The man peered suspiciously at both visitors. "He's held in high esteem by prominent people and a frequent visitor to our Map Division."

"How large is your collection?" asked Neal.

Abernathy smiled with pride. "The Lionel Pincus and Princess Firyal Map Division is one of the world's premiere map collections. Our items range from worldwide down to the local scale—"

"With over 400,000 maps, atlases and books. The collection is international in scope and dates from the sixteenth century to the present," interrupted Peter. "The Slaughter endowment, given to the library in two separate gifts, encompasses material focusing on English Colonial North America."

The librarian nodded with surprise, as Neal whispered to Peter, "I'm impressed".

"I believe I'll take a look at your Map Division reading room, Mr. Abernathy," said Peter, as he and Neal left the now silent services official.

Pausing outside the door, the agent directed Neal to check with Jones about heightened security and meet back within twenty minutes. He also requested his CI to call Diana and get any updates on Colbert's future travel plans.

Peter Burke walked through elegant rooms, enhanced by gilt ceilings, lit by massive windows and stunning chandeliers, and furnished with countless bookcases, sturdy wood tables, and comfortable chairs. Reaching the bronze-handled doors of the map room, he stepped inside, nodding to a security guard and flashing his badge. He moved on to the renovated reference-reading room, famous for its beautiful twenty -foot high ceiling displaying the colors of gold, green and vermillion. Here the rarest maps of the world were handled and studied by the public.

Peter's sharp gaze scanned the few seated patrons. Joseph Colbert was not in the room.

Turning to retrace his steps, he noticed a small door off to one side, marked "Library Personnel". He quietly opened the door, peering inside. Hearing a rustling movement in one of the rear rows of shelved catalogues, Peter glanced in that direction, approaching the main table where several books lay open. Resting against one of the table legs was a large, black briefcase.

"Well, what a surprise!" exclaimed Colbert, appearing from the rear of the book stacks. "It's Agent Burke. What're you doing in the employee section of the library? Boning up on cartography?" he inquired with disdain.

"I could ask you the same question," replied Burke.

"I'm researching material for one of my clients."

"Must not be for Curator Baldwin; she's dead … but you already know that."

"I don't know what you mean," the map expert lied, puzzled expression pasted on his face. "By the way, where's your more intelligent partner? Umm … Agent Caffrey."

"Oh, he's around somewhere," retorted Peter. "Probably researching how Mercator put a spherical globe on a flat surface." As his gaze briefly rested on Colbert's briefcase, a shiny object on the floor caught his eye. Peter knelt down and discovered an X-Acto knife blade. He smiled with immediate comprehension.

Colbert's expression changed, narrowing in suspicion with the realization he had vastly misjudged this man.

"Stop right there, Agent Burke," said Colbert quietly.

With a steady hand, he pulled out a pistol aiming it at Peter's chest. Gesturing for the agent to put his hands up above his head, he added, "If you move your hands toward your weapon, I'll shoot you dead."

As Peter complied, he slowly stood up. "You didn't remove books; you pilfered just the maps themselves. Cut them out a few at a time, leaving the atlas." He stiffened slightly. "Did Mary Ann upset that plan? She made a mistake, took the whole book, opening up an investigation. Colbert, don't make your situation worse. My agents are outside the door. Surrender now while you have a chance."

"I don't think so. Stop talking and move carefully over to the left side of the room, to that utility closet."

Peter remained motionless, watching Colbert intently. "You fire that weapon and people will stream in here."

"Really? Are you going to take that chance? I may panic. Innocent bystanders will be killed. Don't you take some kind of oath to protect the public, _Agent _Burke?"

The federal officer didn't flinch, but his gaze briefly darted behind Colbert, long enough to witness Neal enter the room from a back entry.

"So tell me, how long have you been helping yourself to public treasures?" stalled Peter. Fearing Neal would foolishly expose himself to danger, Peter was intent on holding the map dealer's attention. His priority was now focused exclusively on his partner's welfare.

A smug smile grew on the map expert's face. "Try years, many years … now move." The man menacingly waved the pistol.

The loud sound of a heavy book falling behind Colbert caused him to startle. As he began to glance over his shoulder, another volume arched through the air knocking the weapon out of his hand. Peter leapt forward, kicking the gun out of his reach. With an ease of movement, he quickly wrestled Colbert to the ground, cuffing him within seconds.

Pulling the man to his feet, the agent smiled at his associate. "Neal, your timing is impeccable."

"Good thing I couldn't raise Diana on the cell. I decided to join you in the reading room. When I saw you captivated by our connoisseur of charts, I came around from the back."

"Good thing you did. I don't think I could have suffered another elitist discourse about the passionate pursuit and appeal of antique map collecting."

Colbert glared at both men as he was ushered out the door.

Neal couldn't resist grinning. "Peter, your identification with commonalty is quite well known."

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Several days went by before Agent Burke was updated about the Colbert's status. Finishing up a call with the Washington Art Crime Task Force, he headed into the unit's briefing room where his team waited. Leaning his hands on the conference table, he glanced around the room.

"The Task Force has taken sole responsibility for the Colbert case," he said bluntly. "It's their prerogative to interrogate and supervise prosecution. They've been investigating unsolved map thefts going back ten years, both domestic and overseas. It seems our cartographic expert was quite prolific in art trafficking. They don't have the exact number of stolen maps but it certainly exceeds fifty! The financial and cultural loss to countless libraries and universities is staggering."

Diana directed a questioning look at her boss. "Has Colbert been offered a deal?"

"Oh yes," replied Peter. "and … he's cooperating with a vengeance. If most of the maps can be recovered and returned to the original institutions, his sentence will be fairly light."

"Even with the murder charge?" questioned Neal. "Not to mention, an assault on a federal officer."

"Yup," answered his partner. "Remember folks, these maps don't have identification numbers stamped on them. They've all been trimmed so they don't even look like they ever came from books. Some of them have titles in Latin, could come from copies of the same atlas and are worth millions of dollars. How do you accurately identify them? Colbert's lawyer is highlighting his client's willingness to _help _the authorities relocate lost treasures and pay damages."

Peter shook his head. "Heavy pressure is coming from overseas for quick restitution. I don't envy the Task's Force investigation. This case may have been taken out of our jurisdiction but we now have some down time."

The agent was quite aware of how hard he had pushed his crew. "I appreciate all the long hours and hard work you've put in the last few weeks, first on the art forgery scam, and then Colbert. Good job." Peter walked out of the room with a lighter step. He planned to leave the office early and take Elizabeth out to dinner and the movies. It was a relief to take a break from the heavy workload.

Seeing his consultant in the hall, he gestured for him to stop. "Neal, go ahead and take off early. Wasn't there some local art show in the Park you wanted to see? It's within your radius, right?"

"What? Peter Burke giving me some time off?" Neal remarked, backing away in feigned surprise. "What about, 'no pressure, no diamonds'?"

"Thomas Carlyle again." Peter smiled and paused. "Nope, I've changed philosophers for the time being. Let me quote Samuel Ewing, professional baseball player, 'It's not the hours you put in your work that count, it's the work you put in the hours.' Thanks, Neal. You did good."

A moment of silence met his words. Turning and walking away, he was stopped by Neal's request.

"Want to see the exhibit with me? I'll buy us a late lunch."

Peter halted and did a slow turnaround, a play of emotions crossing his face. Neal offering to treat him with a meal! This was a quite a day. He'd better hold on to that trump card.

"Can I take a rain check?"

Peter was treated to a grin and affirmative nod.

"I'll hold you to that. Today I have a date with Elizabeth."


End file.
